The Hands of an Illusionist
by Maeve's Child
Summary: A tale of a Mystic Elf and her journey through the world of Oblivion. Rated M for future mature themes, violence and naughty behavior. Chapter 5: Blood and Blood
1. Start at the Beginning

_First, I need to thank Ren for her wonderful Mystic Elf mod for Oblivion. This would not have come about if I hadn't decided to download it and play the game again as a Mystic Elf. This will cover several of the story arcs from the game, and hopefully have some rather unexpected characters you remember. I may update slowly, but I'll do my best – I do work well with encouragement. (That's a hint, kids.)_

_Rated M for upcoming mature themes, violence, and future naughtiness. Not surprisingly, none of the characters belong to me, although I will take the blame for Rowena and I am totally at fault for all the non-canon stuff. Sorry about that._

_Hope you enjoy the ride!_

_Chapter 1: Start at the Beginning_

* * *

"I have been many things in my life," Rowena said, smiling. "But I suppose it won't do to give you a list. It would ruin the surprise."

The Nord bard looked at her nonplused. Rowena grinned at her, but that didn't seem to be helping. From behind her, Rowena heard the rather distinctive sound of a Dunmer chuckle. She glanced over her shoulder catching the gleam of a pair of rather handsome red eyes. She smiled at them.

"If you want the eloquent version of the tale," Rowena said, turning back to the young, and impossibly blonde bard, "Perhaps you should ask my husband for the tale. He does have a better relationship with words than I do." There was that Dunmer laugh again.

"'Tis true, and I am also slightly better acquainted with the truth," Varon interjected. "Although the story would not be as interesting without exaggeration. Besides, I am a rather jealous man, and I'd gloss over the parts about your past conquests. Without which I'm certain the story would be less interesting."

Rowena turned back to grin at him again. Varon was leaning against the wall casually, his ankles crossed and his arms folded over his chest. There was a sardonic half smile on his handsome face.

"Maybe you should just start at the beginning," the bard offered shyly.

"Ah yes," Rowena said. "The beginning."

Before she could continue, Varon crossed the room and reached out to her. He twisted the long strands of her apricot colored hair around his hand gently and tilted her head back to look up at him. He leaned down and kissed her forehead with its fine tracery of tattoos, then the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. He released her hair, running his fingers through the long strands as he did.

"Then," he said, not looking away from Rowena, who left her head draped over the back of the chair, staring at him. "If it's the beginning, I want to find somewhere else to be. It makes be _beyond_ jealous to hear where this began."

"Just remember where it ends," Rowena said sweetly.

"I do," Varon replied. "I do remember, ever day, Rowena Jade Vamori. I hope you do as well."

Rowena chuckled, raising her head to look at the Bard again. She tilted her head to the side. "Men," she whispered to the bard conspiratorially. "Dunmer men in particular."

Varon chuckled and patted her head. "Then I'm off," he said. "I'll be back after dark." Rowena turned to watch him go, appreciatively observing the rather fine view of his backside as he sauntered to the door. He turned back to her and blew her a kiss before closing the door behind him.

"Dunmer men," Rowena said, staring at the closed door. Slowly she turned to face the bard again. The color had drained from Rowena's face. She was always pale, but she looked spectrally pale at the moment. The bard shuddered.

"Dunmer men is where it really begins. I have a weakness for them," Rowena began. "Always have."

The bard giggled, making her seem incredibly young. "Seem so scrawny to me, personally," she said.

"That's a common opinion, for a Nord like yourself, but being elven, they seem just about right. Although I will admit, there is also something about large men to be desired. Although you know, when I first met Varon, he had quite the crush on a Nord lass. She looked quite a bit like you in fact, tall, blonde and rather unimpressed by his Dunmer charms." Rowena snickered. "Eh, before I side track myself . . . . " Rowena trailed off. She cleared her throat.

"Alright then, the beginning. But first, I need to set the record straight," she began. "There are many things about me that are thought to be common knowledge, but a good deal of them are wrong. It is commonly 'known' that I am a Bosmer, but I am not."

"What?" The bard looked shocked.

"You too?" Rowena continued. "I would have thought seeing me up close would have dispelled that idea. Ah, I suppose my people are not common, and we've managed to stay that way by not changing any minds when we are thought to be Bosmer. But I'm tired of it."

"So, what . . I mean. . . ." the bard stuttered.

"What am I?" Rowena chortled. "Well, there's a lovely word for my race in my native language, but it's impossible to pronounce and even harder to spell. In Cyrodillic, we're called Mystic Elves."

"I've heard of them, but I thought they were just a myth."

"No," Rowena continued. "We are quite real. Although we have much in common with the other elves you know; The Bosmer, Altmer and Dunmer, we are actually closer related to the Ayleids than they are. We are one of the few outside races the Wild elves will interact with willingly. I won't tell you where our homeland is, that is one secret I won't give away, but I can tell you a few important details." Rowena gestured to her tattoos; the fine filigree of black and green twisted across her forehead and her chest. "We don't all have these. They are given as a sign of magical expertise. Most of my people, not surprisingly, have tattoos symbolizing their gift for mysticism. Although I do have some skill there, mine are not for that arcane art. I am an illusionist. Even in my home where magic is revered, that did not make me very popular.

So once I was of the age of majority, and old enough to be on my own, I left. It isn't uncommon. Many Mystic Elves leave home then, to see the rest of the world and gain skills. But usually they only leave for a short time. And honestly, that was my intention as well. However, as things usually are, it didn't happen the way I'd planned. And that is really where my story begins."

"I left my homeland in late spring, just as the cherry trees were shedding their blossoms. It was beyond beautiful where I am from, but although the land was more harsh as I traveled further away, it had a beauty of its own, nonetheless.

I crossed the border into Cyrodill northeast of Cheydinhal. The land there was pleasant and sparsely populated. I ran into a few aggressive creatures; wolves, feral rats, bears, but nothing I couldn't handle. I got a lot of joy out of finally being able to use the blade skills I'd learned as a child.

It was not long after I'd crossed the border, perhaps only a day or two, before I did run into something I couldn't handle. I was young, impossibly so, to think about it now, and not as skilled at thinking quickly. I was captured by a group of bandits. They were mostly Imperials, but their leader was a Dunmer man named Neman.

Up until now, I'd never actually seen a Dunmer before. I knew of their red eyes and dusky skin. I knew of their aggressive personalities and daedra worship. But I really had no idea. No one had told me that Neman's eyes would look like sunlit rubies, or his skin like polished smoky quartz. No one told me he would have long blue-black hair and be as handsome as any man I'd ever seen.

But, Neman had also never known one of my kind before. He immediately realized I wasn't a Bosmer and his enmity toward me faded. Instead of his prisoner to be ransomed, I quickly become his lover." Rowena paused for a moment, taking a long drink of her wine.

"Ah, this is no way to tell a story," she said finally. "Let me show you how it really was."


	2. Dunmer Men I: Neman

_Chapter 2: Neman_

My hands were bound behind my back and there was a blindfold across my eyes. To add to the indignity, I was gagged. The floor underneath me was cold and hard. And damp. Obviously a cave of some sort.

I could hear muffled voices, arguing and coming towards me. With the voices, a light approached. It was a warm glow of a torch but it was muted by the rough fabric over my eyes. I didn't bother to struggle; instead I struggled to listen.

"Listen Neman," a gruff female voice said. "I know how you feel about women, but this is stupid. She's a spell caster; we can't trust her."

There was a pause and the footsteps stopped.

"Do you trust _me_?" a silky male voice asked.

"Of course I do," the woman replied.

The man grunted noncommitally. "Then do it." There was venom in his voice. He had a strange twang to his words, an accent I'd never heard before. But there was a quality to the voice I did recognize. He sounded like an elf.

The footsteps started again, and ended right in front of me, as far as I could tell anyway. I could sense someone close. Cool fingertips touched my forehead and I jumped. The fingers stopped until I'd stilled, and started again. The fingers were tracing the familiar pattern of my tattoos. Then they gently traced the pointed tips of my ears.

I heard the distinctive sound of a torch set into a metal bracket.

"Well," the man said. Neman, I was guessing. The fingers reached out again, across the fabric covering my eyes. I could feel the knot behind my head being untied. Even more I could smell the man so close to me. He smelled of fire, the dampness of the cave but there was a deep spicy undertone, like sage.

The blindfold dropped away and I blinked a few times, trying to adjust my eyes. It wasn't bright, just the single torch on the wall behind the man. He was crouched down on his haunches only inches in front of me. His face was shadowed, but his hair was backlit. His hair had an indigo halo around it. I couldn't see his face, but I could see the brightness of his teeth as he bared them in a feral smile.

I was afraid, but not nearly as afraid as I thought I would be.

"Hm," he said. "Not a Bosmer, which is certainly in your favor. And not an Altmer, so then I wonder . . . perhaps one of the lesser known races. Maybe a Wild elf?"

I shook my head, not wasting the effort to try to mumble through the gag.

"No? I wonder which then. Left-hand? Or perhaps . . . ah, I remember where I've heard of those tattoos before. Mystic elf."

I nodded.

"That's rather interesting," he said with a voice like warm honey. He turned to face the woman behind him. "Don't you think?"

"Sure, whatever you say Neman," she grumbled. I could see her face, since she stood behind the torch. She was obviously an Imperial, but not much of one. Her face was care worn and lined. Her muddy colored hair was cropped short and she had a rag tied around her forehead.

"Now all I have to decide," Neman said, turning back to me, "Is exactly what we should do with you."

"I thought you said we were going to ransom her," the Imperial woman spat. "Otherwise we'd best kill her and see if she had anything worth selling and stop wasting our time."

Neman growled, but didn't bother to turn around. "I've really had enough of your opinions today. So why don't you be a good little fetcher, and get out of here, before I kill you instead."

The woman's face paled. I couldn't tell if he was serious, but she certainly seemed to think he was. Without another word, she spun on her heel and stalked off. Neman grinned at the sound of her retreating footsteps. I should have been more frightened then, but I wasn't. I was intrigued.

"S'wit," he cursed. He smiled at me again. "So now, little girl, if I untie you and take this gag out of your mouth are you going to behave?"

I nodded a little too quickly. I wanted nothing more than to get this foul tasting piece of rough linen out of my mouth. I would have agreed to just about anything at that point.

Neman leaned forward again, wrapping his long arms around me. He untied the knots in the rope holding my wrists together with deft fingers. That smell again, sage and fire. It made me feel a little dizzy. He leaned back to look at me for a moment. Gently, he slid a finger under the gag on either side of my mouth and pulled it away. His fingers lingered on my lips for a moment.

"Entirely too pretty a mouth to hide like that," he said as he stood up and extended his hand to me. Once he stood, the light of the torch lit his face and I could finally see his face. His skin was a smokey blue-grey and his red eyes stood out in stark contrast rimmed with ridiculously long, black eyelashes. His jaw was broad and he had a dimple in the middle of his chin. A dimple right underneath a pair almost too full lips, tingled with burgundy under a blue haze. He grinned and a matching dimple appeared in each cheek. His long hair was in unbound waves, blue and black, flowing over rather broad shoulders.

I couldn't breathe for a moment.

"Come on now, lovely," he purred. "I don't bite."

Gingerly, I reached out my hand and he took it, pulling me to my feet. He pulled harder than was necessary and I stumbled, falling against his chest. His very solid chest. I gasped and he chuckled a bit, wrapping his free arm around my waist.

Any other man and I might have kicked him between the legs. Or cast a chameleon spell and slipped away. But this man? I was just having a hard time staying standing. I was actually grateful for the arm around me. I think it was the only thing keeping me on my feet. He was only a bit taller than I was, but he seemed infinitely large as he looked down at me with those brilliantly red eyes.

I really wasn't one to swoon, but I was as close as I'd ever been.

"Come along my dear," he said, turning me but keeping his arm firmly around my waist. "I should introduce you to the others. I have a feeling you might just like it here."

I tried to speak, but found I couldn't.

"Oh yes," he laughed. "Sorry about that." With a flick of his wrist and a soft word, I felt the distinctive tingle of a dispel magic spell.

I opened my mouth again, and this time my voice worked. "Thank you," I whispered.

"That's not what I expected your first words to me to be," he chuckled. "But I must say that I like them. Now, before I find you somewhere to rest and decide what you want to do, I would like to know your name."

"Rowena Jade," I said, my voice still soft as it recovered from the silence spell.

"Beautiful name," he murmured. He reached out and cupped my chin in his warm hand, turning my face to him. "Not nearly so beautiful as the rest of you though."

I blushed. And he laughed again and led me away.

He introduced me to the other bandits, as if I was an honored guest, not a hostage. They were mostly male, with the exception of the Imperial woman I'd met before who called herself Nona and a mangy looking Khajit, named Shazira. I got a few winks from the men, and more cold glares from Nona. But Shazira smiled at me, baring her sharp teeth. It wasn't a pretty smile, but it felt sincere.

I swayed on my feet. Neman kept me upright by tightening his arm around me. He leaned me against him, as he lead me a bit deeper into the cave. There was a natural alcove with the opening covered with a rough blanket. He walked me inside and helped me sit on the bedroll on the floor. With another deft flick of his fingers and a soft word, he cast a tiny flare onto a candle and then used it to light several more tucked in niches in the rough stone wall. The candle light made the tiny stone alcove seem like a warm, inviting place.

He sat down next to me on the bedroll.

"I am sorry you've been dragged into this," he said sincerely. "But you're here now. If you want, we can put you to sleep and leave you where we found you, or . . . perhaps you'd like to join us."

"Join you?" I asked incredulously. "I don't even know who you are."

"We're just trying to even the odds," he said. "Not everyone is born with gold septims under their pillows. So we look for ruins, loot goblin caves, and occasionally help ourselves to the extra gold some fat rich merchant doesn't need."

"Bandits," I replied.

"Such an ugly word," he said. "And not altogether accurate. Fortune hunters is what we prefer. And I have a feeling you don't have anywhere else to be."

He was right about that. I had no plans as to where I was going and what I was going to do when I got there. I looked into his eyes. Captivating, enthralling and a little frightening red eyes. I knew I should say no. I knew I should run as far away as I could get. But I also knew I wasn't going anywhere.

"I . . . I'll think about it," I managed to stammer out. Neman didn't seem to hear me, he just kept looking at me. He was almost admiring me, like I was a jeweled amulet in a glass case. Cautiously, he reached out and put a single finger under my chin. He tilted my face up and he tilted his own to the side.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he leaned forward. His breath smelled like smoke. I closed my eyes just as I felt the feather soft touch of his lips against mine. Then he leaned away. There was a dreamy, soft look on his face. He smiled.

"Alright then," he whispered. "Think about it.

* * *

"Dunmer men," Rowena said. "From that moment on, they've been my undoing. Yet . . . although I would never admit it in front of Varon, my life was driven by a love I certainly never expected. If it hadn't been for Martin . . . ah, I'm getting ahead of myself again."

"Martin?" the bard asked. "Martin . . . Septim?"

"None other," Rowena replied. "But lets not rush, shall we? There are more entanglements before we get there."


	3. Gemstones and Bars

_Chapter 3: Gemstones and Bars_

I woke one night in the depths. Another cave; we frequented them. Neman was curled on his side and I had my arm wrapped around his narrow waist. It should have been comforting, but it wasn't enough. Not tonight. I untangled myself from him and the blankets and slipped out into one of the larger chambers.

I was too awake for this time of night, but sleep wouldn't find me. I'd become rather adept at thieving, but now there was murder to add to my list. And more.

We'd come across a Breton merchant and his caravan early that morning. It had been easy enough to subdue them and make off with the cargo. That was until I got greedy. I was hoping to make a bigger score, something to make Neman proud of me. I'd snuck into the merchant's family wagon while the others spelled down the guards and were moving the mass of the cargo.

Inside the wagon, I'd found the merchant's young wife. She was asleep, and around her neck was a glorious jewel. A sapphire the size of a child's fist, set in mithril. I had to have it. I had cast invisibility, but I knew once I touched her, it would be gone. And my magica wasn't regenerating fast enough to cast it again. Without thinking about it, I reached out to take it and she woke.

Before she could scream, I slit her throat.

I couldn't get the look in her eyes out of my head. And what was even better, Neman hadn't appreciated my find and had made me promise that I'd try to sell it once we made it to the Imperial City.

She died for nothing.

I wandered out into the main chamber. It was silent except for the crackling of a small fire. Shazira sat by it, combing tangles out of her fur. I'd been wrong about her; she wasn't mangy, just dirty, that first time we met. When she managed to clean her fur, she was actually quite lovely. For a Khajiit anyway.

I sat down beside her without speaking. She didn't look up at me, just continued to run the bone comb through her fur.

"Couldn't sleep either?" I asked. Shazira was silent. "Shazira?"

She grunted and nodded her head, but looked too engrossed in combing a burr out of the fur on her neck to reply.

"Me neither," I said, sighing. When Shazira didn't reply, I continued. "I just had the strangest dream. There was a handsome man in a hooded robe. He said that he 'promised' that he would be coming to visit me soon. He told me he might have a job for me, since I slept so peacefully, for a murderer."

Shazira looked up at me with alarm in her eyes. "The Dark Brotherhood," she murmured.

"The who?" I asked.

"Best you don't know," she replied. "And best you don't talk to them, if they do ever make good on that promise."

"Hmm," I grunted. "I'm not one to turn down an opportunity."

"You need to be careful," she said. "And not just about the Dark Brotherhood. They are the least of your worries, unless you are their target." She paused and watched my face for a moment. "Neman isn't who he seems."

"What?" I asked, looking over at her.

"It is simple. He is not Neman, he is someone else. I do not know who he really is, but I do know he is not Neman," she replied cryptically.

"What are you talking about?" I asked again. I was not in the mood for riddles or intrigues. I had entirely too much on my mind already.

"There is a lie in his eyes when he says his name," she said. "And someday this lie will break your heart." Gracefully, she stood and looked down at me. It seemed she could read the look of disbelief on my face. "Believe me or not, that is your choice," she said as she turned to walk away. "It is your heart, not mine." Without another word, she disappeared into the shadows.

She is crazy, I thought. Completely off her nut. Between that 'Dark Brotherhood' nonesence and this new madness about Neman . . . I didn't mind the distraction though. I shook my head, pondering what she'd said. I stared into the flames, and under my breath, cast a cold touch spell. The flames fizzled against the magic, but once it had ended, they flared back to life. The embers at the base of the flames were brilliantly red, just like Neman's eyes.

I closed my own eyes, hoping to lose myself in my fond thoughts of those red eyes, but all I could see behind my eyelids were the pale blue eyes of the merchant's wife.

* * *

Rowena sighed. The bard watched her closely, but didn't seem at all shocked.

"So," Rowena said. "Is it all you'd hoped for so far?"

"Yes, but I thought this beginning was how you ended up in the Imperial Prison," she said softly, almost as if she was afraid to offend Rowena.

"It is," Rowena replied. "But I had to set the stage first. It does all tie together. But I am stalling I suppose. I was happy with Neman; I belonged. I hadn't ever felt that way before. I think I don't really want to leave this memory."

"I didn't mean to rush you," the bard stammered. "Or cause you distress."

Rowena laughed bitterly. "All of my tale will bring me distress, but don't look so worried my dear," she said, noting the stricken look on the bard's face. "My days of cutting throats are over."

The bard gave her a sickly grin.

"So you want to know how I ended up in the Imperial Prison, and how I was there the fateful day Uriel Septim breathed his last. It is not so dramatic as it could have been," Rowena explained. "But it is the truth."

* * *

We made it to the Imperial City a week later. Neman was gleeful. Because of our profession, it was rare to get to sleep in a real bed. And we were far from the only "fortune hunters" who came to sell their ill gotten gains in the city. Much of what we acquired was common enough to go unnoticed. There was no need for a fence, just a merchant who didn't ask questions and there were plenty of those in the city.

We'd got rooms at the Bloated Float. It was far from a nice place, but it was quiet and the beds were clean. Neman took me upstairs before we headed into the city. He reached into a sack and pulled out a dazzling green velvet dress and held it up in front of me.

"Perfect," he said. "It matches your eyes."

I took the dress front him and turned to look at myself in the mirror, holding the dress up in front of me. It was more beautiful than any dress I'd ever owned, certainly. And it was perfect. It was the same shade of green as my eyes, and contrasted with my red hair quite stunningly.

"Oh Neman!" I said turning back to face him, "It's so beautiful!" I showered him with kisses.

He chuckled. "And it will make selling that bauble you have a bit easier. It won't seem so obviously stolen."

"Should I put it on?" I asked. My voice seemed a bit too high pitched. I was giddy.

"First," he purred, "We have to get these other clothes off, don't you think?"

I blushed. He did have that effect on me.

With dexterous and delicate fingers, he did exactly as he'd said, divested me of my clothes. Leather armor and linens fell to the floor in a heap. I reached out and frantically pulled his shirt off over his head, running my hands along the contours of his chest. My knees felt weak, but luckily they didn't need hold me for long. Neman grabbed me around the waist, spun me around and dropped me on to the bed. He followed and lay on top of me. His skin was so warm, like he was lit by an inner fire. Being a Dunmer, I suppose he was.

I felt his lips against mine. They were soft, so ridiculously soft and warm, that I thought I would lose my mind. His scalding hands traveled over my body. Everywhere he wasn't touching felt cold. I arched up against him, soaking his heat into my own skin. I felt him slide into me, and in my foolishness, I thought our souls were touching as well.

Making love to Neman was like holding a flame in your hand. I always got burned.

He made sure I found my pleasure first. I screamed loud enough to be heard half way across the harbor before he found his own pleasure, rumbling deep in his throat and trembling above me. His eyes were half closed and his hair was flung out wildly around his face. He looked like and angel, or perhaps a demon, as he collapsed on to me.

Once I could think again, Neman rolled on to his side. He propped his head into his hand. There was faint, half smile on his face as he traced my features with his fingertips. I loved to watch him, especially after love making. His lips were flushed, his eyes soft. I smiled at him.

"I love you," I whispered to him.

"I know," he replied. "For the moment any way."

"No," I said, sitting up and taking his face between my hands. "Forever."

He smiled sadly. "Forever is a long time. For today is enough for me. Now, we should get dressed and find a jeweler."

He slung his long legs over the side of the bed, and slid on a pair of blue velvet trews and slipped a matching doublet over his head. I followed suit, slipping on the green dress, acutely aware that my skin smelled like sex and like Neman.

He looked so dashing in his blue velvet, that as I followed him from the room and towards the Merchant district, it completely slipped my mind that he hadn't told me he loved me in return.

He took me to Red Dragon Jewelry. There was a rather gruff looking Nord behind the counter, but taking in our rich clothing, he was congenial enough. I looked through the glass cases. Neman had suggested I trade the sapphire I wore around my neck for some other jewelry. Something nondescript enough to sell elsewhere but ostentatious enough to not seem out of place. There was a necklace set with several smaller emeralds and a matching ring in one case I thought would work. But I knew the sapphire was worth more. I spied a pair of matching ebony and gold rings in another case, and knew I would get one for myself and one for Neman. These wouldn't be for sale. I held one out to Neman and he slipped it on to his finger with a knowing smile.

I turned to the Nord merchant and showed him my bauble. His eyes opened a little too wide for a moment, and he mumbled something about needing to go next door to his apartments and get his jeweler's loop. I should have noted the way he paled when he saw it. Neman would have, but he was too busy pretending to be enamored of the other cased jewels.

The Nord returned in just a moment. But not alone. Two Imperial Guardsmen trailed him with eyes as steely as their cuirasses. They had my arms behind my back before I could cast a spell to get away. I cried out and Neman spun around, his red eyes wide. He looked like he was going to attack, but just for a moment. We'd come unarmed. There was nothing he could do.

"It was a mistake, trying to sell _that_ here, of all places," the Nord said, pulling the sapphire from around my neck. He cradled it in the palm of his hand and stared at it for a moment before looking back at me with angry lines crossing his forehead. "I made this, for Lady Manoriteri, and I hate to think how she suffered for you to get it away from her."

I closed my eyes. I knew how she'd suffered. Very little suffering in fact. But I also knew how I was going to suffer for it. I opened my eyes again, Neman was staring at me. He knew it too.

"Thief," one of the guards spat at me. The other more literally spat at my feet. His spittle sat on the tip of my new green velvet shoes. "It's to the Imperial prison for you, little one," he said. His voice was thick with lechery.

"What about him?" the other guard asked, jerking his finger towards Neman.

"It's his lucky day," he replied. He turned to Neman and growled, "But if I see you again, your luck is going to turn very bad. Very bad indeed."

The guards started to drag me out the door. I wanted to shout, cry out for Neman to save me, but I knew there was nothing he could do. And what was worse, I could see in his eyes there was nothing he would do, even if he could have.

"Good bye," Neman said softly. "I hope I'll see you again."

"Not likely," the younger of the two guards laughed. "She won't be seeing daylight again."

* * *

"And then, without a trial, they dumped me into a filthy cell in the Imperial prison. Right across from Valen Dreth who made sure my days were filled with lewd innuendo," Rowena sighed. "I do like Dunmer men, and even Valen might have been handsome, if he hadn't opened his disgusting mouth."

"How long were you there before the Emperor came?" the bard asked.

"Two months," Rowena replied. "Long enough to want to get out of there, no matter the cost. But not long enough to break me entirely." Rowena took a long drink from her wine glass.

"It wasn't quite like I expected," the bard said. "With your reputation, I figured you'd been falsely accused."

"No such luck," Rowena grinned. "I was guilty."


	4. A Place to Call Home

_Chapter 4: A Place to Call Home_

"The tale of my release from the Imperial Prison is well known," Rowena continued. "And true enough for a story."

"But is it really true?" the bard asked. "Did the Emperor recognize you?"

"So he told me, and I am inclined to believe him," Rowena replied. "If his son was any indication, the Septims are truthful, if a bit dramatic at times." She chuckled, more to herself, than for the benefit of the bard. "Martin was known for being a touch excitable. And although I only knew Uriel for moments, there were more similarities than you might expect."

"Like what?"

"The thing I remember most was their eyes. Not just the color or the shape, although that was the same as well. It was the look, the expression. Resignation, duty, depth and a pain, as if the whole world was resting on their shoulders. I suppose it was," Rowena mused. "But to get to the point, I'm not going to rehash a story that already been told. Yes, the Emperor and his Blades tried to escape the Imperial City though the prison and through my cell. They did not close the door behind me, and let me follow. At a distance. The Emperor spoke to me, told me of his dreams and that he had dreamt of me.

He handed me the Amulet of Kings, and then was struck down by an assassin's's blade. He begged me to take the Amulet to Jauffre at Weynon Priory. This is all true.

But Weynon Priory wasn't where I went next, not even close, no matter what you've heard. I did not immediately start out on a noble quest to save the Empire. At the time, I could have cared less about the Empire, although I do feel differently about it now. I think of myself as very young then, but it's not much of an excuse. The truth is, I was selfish and I thought I was in love. I went looking for Neman, and found the Dark Brotherhood instead."

* * *

I ran. I didn't know what else to do, and despite the assurances of the Blades and the fallen Emperor, I half expected that if I was seen, I would be put right back into that filthy cell. And there I would rot.

I wasn't about to let that happen. I was free and I intended to stay that way, whatever it took. I had no idea how horrible being locked in a tiny room without any hope of escape would be. Valen Dreth told me I was going to die in there, and I was dying in there. A little bit at a time, but it was death nonetheless. Now, with the bars gone and no stone walls to keep me in, I felt like I'd been reborn. So instead, I cast a chameleon spell and I ran out into the night to get as far away from the city as I could.

I had no idea where I was going. Neman had given me a book of maps, and I remembered where the cities were, Chorrol, Cheydinhal, Anvil and the rest, but I knew very little in-between. I did know that Neman preferred caves as places to hide, and I knew that the wilds were littered with them. After only a short time on the road, I headed to the northwest into the woods and fields.

I thought that perhaps Cheydinhal would be the best place to start, and caves along the way were likely to be plenty. Neman spoke fondly of Cheydinhal, although he acted strange when I asked him to take me there. But it was obvious he knew Cheydinhal well, so it was as good a destination as any.

I was also hoping to find a Mage's Guild hall there. That was a common destination for others of my kind that went to the cities. My father had spoken about the guild and how he'd eventually gone to the University and gained the rank of Evoker, before returning home. He was very proud of that. He had never been proud of me before, being an illusionist, instead of a mystic. Sometimes, I thought he didn't love me at all. Yet, I thought I could learn from the guild. And perhaps what I might do there could wash my hands clean of their blood stains.

I could find Neman, become an Evoker myself, and then go home. Maybe, for the first time, it would actually _feel_ like home. If I was lucky, Neman would come with me, and my father would be proud of me. It was a rather lofty goal for a little girl lost in the wildness, wearing torn leathers found in a cave under the Imperial Prison. Especially a little girl recently pardoned from a life sentence for murder.

But I was young, and foolish. And it was cold when I finally curled myself into a hollow in the roots of a tree to sleep. My dreams kept me warm that night.

I woke in the morning and continued on. It wasn't long before I found the first cave. It was full of goblins, but I did get pleasure from dispatching them. I also was able to loot enough food and some supplies from their shaman to keep me in potions and spells.

The days were all the same. I would travel, if I was lucky, I'd find a cave and dispatch what I found inside. At first, it was only goblins and creatures. A spriggan or two; a wraith. They weren't pleasant, but I managed. It wasn't until nearly a week on the road, still heading a generally northwest direction that I had to make a real choice.

I'd come up on the crest of a hill, and it was sunset. I could see Cheydinhal in the distance. From the looks of it, I could make it there in a few hours. But there was also another cave entrance, closer to me. I thought that it would make a better place to sleep than out in the weather once I cleaned it out. So I cast invisibility on myself, and headed to the mouth of the cave.

My magica started to regenerate faster than it had before, so before I stepped inside, I was able to cast a Night Eye spell, before casting my invisibility again. A always liked to get a look at what was inside before I decided to attack. I'd found an old, but well made silver long sword in one of the other caves that served me well, but it wasn't invincible.

I crept inside. Slowly. I passed through the first few chambers without resistance. It wasn't until a small passage deeper inside that I saw movement. I slipped closer. It was a man. A Nord man. He was very tall and broad through the shoulders with a scarred face. He had a rusty axe stuffed through his belt and looked thoroughly bored out of his mind.

A bandit. I knew the type well, since I'd been once, albeit for a short time. They were likely to have far better loot than the goblins. Better food, weapons, armor. But this was a man, not a beast. He was as likely to attack me on sight however. Without sneaking up and delivering my first blow from the shadows, I couldn't hope to defeat him. But that also meant I couldn't talk with him and find out if I was right about that 'attack on sight' idea I had. He might be like Neman.

He wasn't handsome, but perhaps he'd rather warm my bed than split my skull open. Both were distinct possibilities. But I had only one chance. If he was aggressive, it was all over. I knew I only had a moment before my spell wore off and he could see me. I took a deep breath and then plunged my blade between his ribs.

He didn't even get a chance to shout.

As he fell, my sword pulled free. He fell to the ground in a clatter of cheap plate mail. I closed my eyes. There was no turning back now. I was a murderer, through and through.

* * *

"But, I don't understand," the bard asked incredulously. "All the stories say you were always a good person. Only killing when you had to. The Dark Brotherhood stories, well I was told those were just to make you seem . . . well, intimidating."

"I'm afraid to say that those are as untrue as the tales saying I'm a Bosmer," Rowena sighed. "If you don't want me to continue, I'm sure you can make up the rest on your own. But if you want the real story, as you said you did, then you will have to let many things you thought to be true go."

"I just don't think I understand how you could save the Empire from Oblivion, be the confidant of Martin Septim, and be living here in Bravil where you are loved by your neighbors if . . . . ,"

"If I'm a cold-blooded killer?" Rowena said, raising one eyebrow. The bard paled. "Don't look so shocked. I know what I am, and what I was before. You must understand, more than anything, I am driven by passion. Passions lead to many things, and not all are beautiful. Yes, I did help to save the Empire, but truly it was Martin that saved us, not me. Yes, I was called the Champion of Empire, and I was a Knight of the Nine. But I am not so one sided. No one is."

"I still don't understand," the bard said.

"Sometimes, I don't either. Did you know that before he was priest of Akatosh, Martin worshiped the Daedra?" Rowena asked.

"No, I had no idea," the bard said, her face the perfect picture of shock.

"It's true. And yet he was a good and decent man," Rowena continued. "And I think, at my core, I am good and decent as well, although my morals may differ from yours. I don't expect that you'll understand. You may never completely understand me. Not even Varon does, and he's tried harder than most. I think it's best that you just put aside what you expect and listen. Perhaps once I've told the whole story, the whole truth that no one beside me, Varon and the Nine actually know, maybe then you'll understand. Or you won't. But either way, you'll have one damn good story. So, on to Cheydinhal then? Yes?"

"Yes," the bard said. "And I'm sorry for interrupting."

Rowena smiled. "It's to be expected, and I doubt it will be the last time. Just wait. It gets far more shocking than a few dead bandits."

* * *

I slept in the cave that night. It bothered me some to think of the corpses I was sharing it with, but I was exhausted. Between the constant walking and the fighting, I could hardly move. It was more as if I'd passed out than slept and I didn't dream.

The bandits had less than I had hoped. Apparently, they weren't very successful. But they did have some decent food, and their leader had a lovely pair of chainmail greaves, so it wasn't a complete loss. In the morning, I donned my new greaves, packed up what food I could carry and headed into Cheydinhal.

I made it into the city by noon. It was a pretty town, lots of Morning Glories twining up the stucco walls. It smelled like fresh baked bread and flowers mostly, although there was foul undertone I couldn't place. I'd spent little time in cities at that point, so I imagined it was just the smell of so many people living together. I was wrong, but I didn't know it yet.

I found the guild hall easily, and I was surprised at how fast they took me in. I gave them a quick demonstration of spells, and then suddenly I was an associate of the guild. Without any questions about who I was, or where I was from, they handed me a key. And suggested I bathe.

I learned how I'd have to get a recommendation from all the guild halls before I could gain access to the University, but that didn't seem so hard. Falcar gave me a strange assignment, but I figured I could manage it. I wasn't in any condition to start at the moment. I was in dire need of more rest, so I decided I would talk with the rest of the guild members tomorrow, and today I'd sell my spare potions and try to make myself feel like a real person again.

Once I'd sold what I could, and bought some new leathers, I wandered the city aimlessly. And I thought about Neman. I couldn't understand why I hadn't found him. I'd even asked a few of my new guild mates if they'd heard of him, but no luck. And I imagined that he'd be as hard for them to forget as he was for me to forget.

I thought back to what Shazira said. Maybe Neman wasn't his real name. If it wasn't, I might never find him. He might be dead. Or, somehow even worse, he might not want me to find him.

I couldn't believe how much that thought hurt me.

Try as I might, I couldn't get the vision of Neman's eyes out of my head all day. Just after sunset, I stumbled back to the guild hall. I found some unoccupied beds in the basement. Everyone else used the rooms upstairs, further away from Falcar's private room. But I didn't care if the 'boss' was just across the way. The privacy was more important at the time. After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, I finally fell asleep.

I woke in the dead of the night with a hooded man standing at the foot of my bed. I was too shocked to even scream.

"You sleep soundly, for a murderer," the man said. "And that is good, considering the proposal I have for you." He slipped the hood of his robes away from his face. He looked like a Breton, perhaps thirty, with inky black hair and equally dark eyes. He had a pleased, sardonic look on his face.

"My name is Lucien LaChance," he said. "And I've come to offer you the chance to join my family."

"What?" I finally managed to squeak out.

He chuckled coldly. "My family; The Dark Brotherhood. We are those than cleanse the world. We follow Sithis, the dark lord of death and his consort, the Night Mother. We are a guild of murders, and we are the force than drives the world."

I just stared.

"Ah, you prefer silence? As do I my dear, as do I," he continued. He sat down gingerly beside me, and I flinched. This too elicited a chuckle from him. He reached out and gently put his hand on my knee. "Do not be afraid of me," he said. "You only need fear the Dark Brotherhood if you are not one of us. You only need fear me when you can't see me."

I clenched my hands around the hem of my blanket a bit tighter. Noticing the movement, Lucien reached out and touched my hands. Unconsciously, I let go of the blanket and let him lift my hand. His fingers were cold.

"These are the hands of an illusionist," he pondered. "Yes?"

I nodded meekly.

"You could be of much use to us," he replied. He reached into the folds of his robe and produced a knife. A dagger to be precise. It was beautiful. An ebony blade with a hilt finely decorated with tracery not unlike the tattoos I bore. The irony was not lost on me.

"This is a Blade of Woe," he explain. "It is a virgin blade and it thirsts for blood. If you wish to join us, to join me, then you just need feed it. There is an old man, a dark man, named Rufio who is hiding at a roadside inn called the Inn of Ill Omen. Kill Rufio, and I will come to you again. Your initiation into my family will be complete."

"I . . . I don't know if I can," I whispered, finding my voice. Lucien gave me a long, patient look with his dark eyes. I think I should have hated him on sight. But I was so lost, and so longing for that feeling on belonging I'd had with Neman . . . the idea of a family that accepted and even embraced my talents was very appealing. "But I think," I said softly, "That I am willing to try."

Lucien smiled. It was a surprisingly warm smile. He leaned forward and kissed my forehead lightly.

"Then you will succeed," he murmured against my skin. "And _then_ you will be mine."


	5. Blood and Blood

_Chapter 5: Blood and Blood_

_I have added an explanation for the "fast-travel" option in the game. I know it's totally not in the world of Tamriel, although I know there was some portal travel possible in Morrowind. However, without it there would be a lot of terribly boring travel that I'd have to fill with adventures and well, I'm just not willing to go there. Hope it isn't too distracting._

_On with the show then? Yes?_

_

* * *

_

"I probably shouldn't admit this in polite company," Rowena said. "But I got a nearly sexual thrill out of killing Rufio."

The bard was pale as snow, but didn't reply.

"I'm not sure now, if it was the act of killing or the thought of seeing Lucien again that did it to me," Rowena explained. "But nonetheless, it was exciting. And once the deed was done, I hurried back up into the room I'd rented and tried to sleep."

Rowena cleared her throat.

* * *

I thought it was brilliant to just go to bed. If they discovered the body, they'd never expect the pretty elf girl upstairs had anything to do with it. Innocent as a babe, they'd think I was. It was another illusion, but that's what I was good at. I faded in and out of sleep, hoping that I'd wake and see that shadowy figure at the foot of my bed again. It was nearly dawn when I got my wish.

"Ah, my child," the deep voice emanating from the dark hood said. "I am so proud of you."

I grinned. I probably shouldn't have, but I did. Lucien pushed back the hood of his robe. The expression on his face mirrored mine. Like before, he came over to the side of the bed and sat next to me. He didn't so much walk as glide across the room. He reached out one of his narrow fingered hands and cupped my cheek.

"Your initiation is complete," he purred, leaning in close. I could feel his breath on my skin.

"I am yours," I whispered. The place on my face where his hand lay was burning. I was burning. Although Neman was rarely far from my thoughts, when Lucien's skin touched mine, Neman was gone like smoke on the wind.

"You are," he said. His lips brushed my forehead. "Now you must return to Cheydinhal. In the abandoned house at the edge of town, there is what you seek. Go to the basement and to the red door. When asked 'What is the color of night?' you must reply, 'Sanguine, my brother' and you will enter a whole new world."

"Will I see you there?" I panted.

"Perhaps," he replied. "Perhaps not, but I have no doubt you will have plenty to occupy your . . . _desires_ once you are there. Blood and _blood_," he murmured.

Before I could think of a reply, he kissed my forehead again. His hand slithered down my neck, on to my shoulder and continued sinuously along my arm. Then he stood and pulled his hood up. His face disappeared into shadow as did he.

"Your new family awaits your arrival," his voice echoed into the darkness.

I knew he stood in the shadows and watched me for a time. I could feel him there, even if I couldn't see him. My cheeks were flushed and hot. So hot, in fact, I was surprised they weren't glowing. Slowly the presence I felt faded away. He was gone.

I was entirely too aroused to return to sleep. Instead I rushed back to Cheydinhal. I was glad for my admission into the Mage's guild. They had a way to 'fast-travel' through Cyrodill. As long as one knew the destination, the journey was swift. A portal stone could open a path between places that allowed me to travel more swiftly than even the fastest horse.

I stepped through the portal into the Cheydinhal Mage's Guild and rushed out into the dawn to find the house Lucien had told me of. It was easy to find, and oddly ignored. The guard averted their eyes when they walked past and it was easier than I expected to spell down the lock and disappear inside.

It was dark inside; only tiny shafts of the new sunlight creeping in between the boards covering the windows. I cast 'starlight' and easily wove my way through the broken crates to the door to the basement. It was even darker in the stairwell, but with the light of my spell I could see everything. The stairs were rickety, but surprisingly free of dust. Spider webs clung in every corner, untouched. In the cellar, there was a rough hole cut through the plaster wall, leading into a stone tunnel. Just as I entered, my 'starlight' winked out. The tunnel wasn't lit, but I could see a red glow coming around the corner.

I followed the red light to a stair and the red door. There was a stain of old blood on the floor. My hand gingerly touched the door and a disembodied voice spoke.

"What is the color of night?" the voice asked.

"Sanguine, my brother," I replied as the door swung open. Torchlight spilled into the tunnel. I stepped inside and the door closed behind me on its own. Standing near the door was an Argonian woman with fine violet and grey scales dressed in tight fitting black leather. Behind her, an enormous animated skeleton with a mace and shield lumbered about.

"My sister," the Argonian woman said. "I am so happy to meet you. Lucien told us to expect you." Her voice was like dry leaves brushing across stone. "You are as beautiful as he described," she said.

I smiled, but my voice seemed too far away to use.

"I am Ocheeva," she continued. "And I am the mother of this sanctuary, just as the Night Mother is to us all. I hope that I can make you feel as welcome as you deserve. It is always an honor to bring another dark sister into the embrace of our Dark Lord Sithis."

"Thank you," I replied finally. "I hope I am worthy of the honor."

"I have no doubt you are," she replied. "Lucien is an excellence judge of assassins. Antoinetta!" she called, turning around. A tiny blonde Imperial woman appeared from the shadows to stand at Ocheeva's side."

"This is Rowena Jade," Ocheeva said to her. "She is our new sister. Could you please show her to her bed, and introduce her to the others before you take her to see Vicente for her first contract?"

"Of course," Antoinetta replied. "Come," she said, holding her hand out to me. "There is much to see."

I took her hand and let her lead me inside. The walls of the sanctuary enveloped me like a caress.

* * *

"I honestly don't remember what she showed me, although I know that place now as well as I knew my mother's womb." Rowena said. "When I think back to that day, all I remember is Vicente."

"He was the vampire?" the bard asked.

"He was _the_ vampire," Rowena replied. "Not 'a vampire' mind you, 'the vampire.'"

"Weren't you afraid of him?"

"Of course I was," Rowena explained. "But I know now that I am highly intrigued by the things that should frighten me. A man who does not scare me is unlikely to keep my attention for very long."

"But what about Martin? He was the heir to the throne, and as you said, a good and decent man. How could he have frightened you?" the bard asked.

"You're jumping ahead again," Rowena chuckled. "But I will say that you just answered the question in the question."

The bard looked confused.

"Martin was the heir to the throne. He was the Emperor. He was the embodiment of Talos and Akatosh on Tamriel. Trust me, it was frightening," Rowena said. "But again, I don't want to rush things. And Vicente deserves his time. He was certainly worth it."

* * *

Antoinetta led me to the heavy doors at the deepest part of the sanctuary. The sun would never reach anywhere in the sanctuary, but this was as far away from it as possible. Antoinetta turned to me at the door.

"This is Vicente Valteri's room," she said. "He gives out the contracts for all the new brothers and sisters. I want to warn you, he's going to scare you. But don't let him."

"Why will he scare me?" I asked.

"You'll see," Antoinetta smirked. "But I'll leave you to find that out on your own." She turned to leave.

"Aren't you coming with me?"

"Not today," she replied. "He's angry with me. And he doesn't like me, for good reason." She laughed. "I wouldn't want to taint your first meeting with him by being here. I have a feeling he _is_ going to like you. He says magic users taste the best." She spun on her heel before I could ask her what she was talking about. I think I knew why the man behind the door didn't like Antoinetta. I didn't like her either.

I knocked on the heavy door with my heart in my throat.

"Come in," a velvety voice said through the door. I recognized the accent immediately. Breton. I pushed the door open just enough to walk through.

"Do close the door behind you," he said. I closed the door and turned to face him. He was sitting at a small table, with his ankle crossed over his knee. Unlike the others I'd met, he wasn't wearing armor, but was dressed all in black. He wore a black silk shirt with an alarming number of buttons undone, showing a lot of pale skin and firm muscle in the vee of the opening. He had long dark air, not unlike Lucien, but his was darker, inky black and shiny as oil. It wasn't tied back, but instead shadowed his face.

He looked up at me and grinned showing a pair of ivory white, wickedly sharp fangs. It took everything I had not to flee. But I did take an involuntary step backward and slammed myself into the closed doors.

"Do not let my appearance alarm you," he said. "My vows to the Dark Brotherhood take precedence over my own needs as a vampire."

"I . . . I'm sorry," I stuttered. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"No offence taken my dear," he replied. "It is to be expected. You will become accustomed to me in time." I nodded mutely. He smiled again, this time keeping his lips closed over his teeth. He stood up, setting his book on the table. He took a step towards me. His hand reached out and cupped my chin. I didn't flinch, although I wanted to. Vicente tilted his head to the side as if he was inspecting me. I was beginning to wonder at this reaction to me. Lucien and Neman had both done the same thing.

"Very nice," he said finally, dropping his hand. "You didn't even move. I look forward to working with you."

* * *

"I threw myself into my contracts with a glee that I'm sure pleased Sithis," Rowena said. "I killed with enthusiasm and I continued to hope that I would find Lucien in the sanctuary when I returned. But he was never there."

"Never?" the bard asked.

"Well, once," Rowena said. "However it was while I was out on a contract. Antoinetta certainly gloated that I'd missed him and spent half the night I returned describing in great detail the innuendo and unspoken desire between them. I was jealous, but not as much as I could have been. I did have Vicente after all."

"You _had_ Vicente?" the bard said incredulously. "But he was a monster, he made you into a vampire and forced you to fight for a cure!"

"Ah, another misconception," Rowena said. "Vicente gave me his Dark Gift at my request."

* * *

By this time, Vicente was no longer giving me my contracts. They were coming directly from Ocheeva. But I still spent far more time with him than with anyone else. I was usually exhausted when I returned, since I would fulfill a contract and then complete a task for the local Mage's Guide for a recommendation. Vicente found if highly amusing that I would do both at the same time. But he was also intrigued by my ability to blend into the normal world and the bloody world of the Dark Brotherhood at the same time.

I only had to complete the task for Falcar at the local guild to get my admittance into the Arcane University. Once that happened, it would be long time before I could take another contract or return to the sanctuary. I knew it and so did Vicente. But since I hadn't yet mastered the 'Buoyancy' spell I knew I'd need to complete it, we still had time.

I never thought lying on a slab of stone to sleep would be pleasant, but I was mistaken. Of course, when I was there, Vicente would cover the stone with velvet blankets. And he would cradle me against him to cushion me against the hard stone. He forgot about the hard angles of his own body, but I didn't mind.

I was laying on my side, my head pillowed on Vicente's shoulder. We were dressed still and just laying close together, reveling in each other.

"There was a messenger here earlier," Vicente said. "And that can only mean one thing. Lucien has sent sealed orders for someone."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"Something secret, and highly dangerous, usually," he replied.

"Hm," I muttered. "I wonder who for."

"As long as its not you, I'll be happy," he said softly. He kissed the top on my head and I could feel the hardness of his fangs through this pliable lips.

"Why not?" I asked, turning my face up to look at him. He was gazing down at me. His strange pale orange eyes weren't frightening anymore. They were comforting, like the amber glow of sunset. Unlike those blazing red Dunmer eyes of Neman, those eyes of fiery, destructive passion; Vicente's eyes were like the embrace of coming darkness. Cool and quiet.

"Because I think you are gone enough already," he said. "I'd like to have you to myself for a while."

I grinned. "I'm here now."

"That you are," he purred. His eyes hooded. He pulled me up level with him, kissing my lips. First as soft as a breeze, with cool lips. I opened my mouth and slipped my tongue inside his mouth, running it along the sharp points of his teeth. I loved the feel of those hard, razor sharp fangs.

His hands maneuvered down from the small of my back to my bottom and he pressed me against him. I felt the other hard part I loved rub against me. Groaning slightly, I fumbled with the laces on his pants and hiked my skirt around my waist. Growling deep in his throat, Vicente swung me on top of him. His fingers dug into the sensitive skin on my hips. With a sharp thrust of his hips, he slid inside of me.

I pressed my hands against his shoulders, bracing myself and holding him down against the slab at the same time. Just like he taught me. He'd explained that vampires only passed along the infection when they are distracted. And nothing like sex for distraction. I'd let him feed from me once, after the first time we'd been together. That's when he explained all the details of intercourse with a vampire.

I pushed harder with the heels on my hands, digging them into the hollow of the joint at his shoulder. It hurt; I knew it did. But I also knew that he liked it. He closed his eyes.

"Pain," he whispered. "The best of pleasure."

I moved slowly at first. At first, it seemed no different from the other times I'd lay with him. But as I moved, I realized it was not the same. We both knew this would end, eventually. For me, even as an elf, I was mortal. And he was not. Time was running short before I'd be gone. And for how long? Neither of us could say.

I leaned down and kissed him and he pushed me back with one hand between my breasts.

"Not so close," he murmured, still holding me away, "You are too delicious to resist."

For a moment, I thought of Neman, although Vicente had done much to push him out of my thoughts. We too had very little time. What I wouldn't have given to have found more time. There was never enough time in a mortal life for all I wanted to do, to have, to _feel._ And then it hit me. It felt like the moon breaking through a bank of clouds. I knew a way I could have all the time in the world; a way I could have as much time as Vicente could ever want me to. To spend with him, and everything else.

I let the pressure on my hands lessen for a moment, and then with a moan, I rolled us over. Still deep inside me, I pulled him on top of me. I wrapped my legs around his waist. He looked down at me with an expression I'd never seen before on his face. Fear.

"I . . . can't," he panted, trying not to move. "I will bite you; I will infect you."

"I know," I whispered. "I want you to. Then we can have forever."

Vicente's eyes glittered. "Do you know what you are asking?"

"I do," I sighed. I tilted my head back and to the side, offering him a tantalizing view of the large artery in my neck. "Do it."

With another growl, of hunger or of passion, his hips thrust against me in a suddenly maddening rhythm and his teeth sunk into the pale, thin skin of my neck. At that moment, I was sure his teeth were more pleasurable and erotic than anything else I'd ever felt before. I screamed, equally pleasure, pain and horror.

With a shudder, Vicente threw his head back. My blood stained his lips a deep carmine red and a tiny trickle of blood ran from the center of his lower lip, down his chin. He howled like a wild feral thing before collapsing on top of me. He lay still for a moment. Then he eased to the side, taking his weight off of me. He buried his face against my neck and kissed the bite marks.

"By Sithis," he murmured, "What have I done?" His voice sounded strangled.

"Only what I asked of you," I replied.

"It still isn't too late," he said, his face still pressed against me. "You have three days to find a healer before you transform."

"I don't want a healer," I said. I pulled back and held his face between my hands. His orange eyes seemed to glow in the candlelight. I studied his face. The sharp lines of the bone made plain by his vampirism, the temporary flush of my blood in his system and the long dark lashes around his eyes. "Vicente?" I asked.

"Yes, love?" he said softly.

"What color were your eyes, you know, before?"

"Blue," he replied.

"Ah," I said. "The orange suits you better."

"I only hope it will suit you as well," he said. "I will miss your namesake jade colored eyes. Like the sunlight through leaves, as best I can remember anyway. You will miss the sun, eventually. Although that won't likely happen to you for a good long while."

"Orange eyes," I pondered. I laughed suddenly. "They'll match my hair!"


End file.
